


The Wounds Men Give Themselves

by estelraca



Category: October Daye Series - Seanan McGuire
Genre: Aftermath of abuse for Simon, Forgiveness, Multi, Nightmares, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:35:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28696302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/estelraca/pseuds/estelraca
Summary: Dianda learns that Simon has nightmares when she has to send Patrick to deal with a minor political matter.  She decides to try to help him.
Relationships: Dianda Lorden/Patrick Lorden/Simon Torquill
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22
Collections: Holly Poly 2020





	The Wounds Men Give Themselves

**Author's Note:**

  * For [keenquing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/keenquing/gifts).



> I was not expecting this relationship in the books, but I like it quite a bit (the same can be said of Simon himself, really--wouldn't have expected the redemption arc at the start, but I love it). I hope you enjoy this little scene of Simon and Dianda getting to know each other again.

_The Wounds Men Give Themselves_

“Do it.” Oleander purrs the words into his ear. “You know you want to. You know you hate her. Look at what she is. Look at what she's done.”

Simon looks down at the little goldfish flopping helplessly on the ground. His foot lifts, just slightly, as Oleander presses herself against his back. Then he forces it back to the ground. “I can't. She's my daughter.”

“No, she's not.” Oleander laughs. “She's _her_ daughter. Whatever the technical rules might state, she's nothing to you. Not your blood. Not your brood. She's the child your wife made when she was tired of you and the grief that you'd been bearing for the both of you. She's a half-mortal pet that bit the hand that fed her and then went on to steal _your_ brother away.”

Simon closes his eyes, lifting his hands to press against the lids. This isn't right. Some part of him _knows_ that this isn't right, but the feel of Oleander's skin against his, the cloying scent of her, the way October is thrashing—it all feels exactly the way it should.

“Kill her.” Oleander's words are less a suggestion now, a thread of steel running through them. “Twist her body until it snaps. Drink her salt-water blood.”

Simon takes a step back, shaking his head. October's gills flutter, pale cartilage showing as she gasps for breath. “No. I won't.”

“You will.” Oleander grabs his wrist, and though he tries to fight he _can't_.

“No.” He wills his body to stop moving, wills his feet to be still, but he can't manage to make it happen. The rotten apple smell of his tainted magic rises up around him, cloying and choking.

“Yes.” Oleander kisses his cheek, her lips absurdly gentle. “We both know you want this, or you'd stop.”

“I don't—no— _please—_ ”

But telling Oleander _please_ is not usually the way to get her to listen to you. She respects strength. She respects cruelty. She doesn't respect him, especially not when he can't even control _himself_.

He tries to close his eyes, but even that doesn't seem to be within his power, and so he watches as—

“Simon!”

Simon jerks upright, the bed-sheet falling down to puddle in his lap. He raises trembling hands to push them through his hair, gasping for breaths that come easily now.

Dianda watches him, her head tilted slightly to one side. She's in her proper Merrow form, strong fin draped across the floor of the bedchamber that Simon and Patrick have been sharing in the air-containing part of Dianda's demesne.

“Sorry.” Simon forces his hands to stop trembling, folding them into his lap as he studies Dianda. His wife, somehow, and even a week after their wedding it feels strange to imagine that this is true. That the dream is what he woke from, and _this_ is reality—Patrick and his merrow bride both Simon's to hold for as long as he's able.

Mostly it's been Simon and Patrick since they returned from the wedding. The Undersea is even more brutal and vicious than the land-dwelling fae, and Simon is glad that Dianda has a strong political base, a loyal group of Undersea advisors, and a desire for her husbands to mainly stay out of the way of her running her kingdom.

Not that she doesn't accept advice from Patrick, who is eager to give it. But it's clear she doesn't _need_ it, that she is quite capable of managing things on her own.

That she doesn't need Simon, and though that's a situation he usually loathes, right now... right now it's good to be something disposable.

Something that can be set aside and forgotten.

Not that Dianda seems keen on forgetting him right now. She's approaching the bed, partly pulling herself with her ridiculously strong arms, partly pushing herself with her tail like a seal. She manages to raise herself up onto the bed with something almost like grace. “You were having a nightmare.”

Simon looks away, not wanting her to see the weakness in his eyes. “It's common for me. Typically Patrick...”

“He's dealing with some kind of something with the selkies.” Dianda waves a hand. “He understands them better than me, so I figured it was best to delegate that. But you can hardly say _typically Patrick_ when you've only been sleeping next to him for a week.”

Simon swallows, trying not to let any hesitancy or fear show on his face. Is this where Dianda starts feeling jealous of him? Is this where she begins to realize that allowing Simon into her marriage bed was a mistake?

Dianda's hand smacks open-palmed against his shoulder. “Don't look like that. I'm hardly jealous. I've had decades of all the sleeping next to him I want, and I expect to have decades in the future, too. _You're_ the one with scars that need healing, who apparently doesn't remember what an uninterrupted night's sleep without nightmares is like.”

Simon can feel his face heating, and he's not sure if it's shame or relief or embarrassment or some combination of all three. “I have spent decades sleeping on my own and managing my psyche, thank you.”

Dianda snorts. “You've spent decades surviving, slowly carving yourself apart for people who didn't deserve it and I think frankly didn't even notice it. Now's your chance to start healing and _thriving_ , and I intend to see you do it. I owe Patrick at least that much.”

“He wouldn't see it that way.” Simon raises his eyes hesitantly to study Dianda. “He would see every moment he's spent with you as a blessing.”

“I know.” Dianda arches, a fond, knowing smile softening the planes of her face briefly. “He's sweet like that. How he survived so long in _any_ kind of Court I have no idea, but I'm glad I eventually got to spirit him away to mine.” Her eyes cut to Simon, and her expression shifts subtly. “Though I'm sorry you were hurt so badly in the process.”

“I was a grown man. Old enough I should have seen what was happening and known enough to reach out for help.” Everything had just spiraled so far out of control, one decision leading seemingly-inevitably to another until it was all lost. Until he went from a happy man with a wife and a daughter and a hero for a brother to a monster torturing children, stealing their lives from them, sacrificing not just his happiness but Sylvester's and—

Dianda's hand buries itself in his hair, her strong fingers turning him to face her. Then her lips are against his, pressing firmly, her tongue touching tentatively to his lips.

He gasps, arching, pulling away from her.

She lets him go without any hesitation, lips pursing. “Not the way to get you to stop thinking, then. My apologies.”

Simon lifts a trembling hand to touch his lips, his whole face likely scarlet, his heart beating hummingbird-fast in his chest. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—it's just—Oleander, and...” He almost says _my wife_ before he stops himself, before he remembers that _Dianda_ is now his wife.

“No, I'm sorry. I should have thought...” Dianda makes a low growling sound in her throat, her teeth flashing briefly. “I'm a fighter. You probably noticed that.”

A brief bark of laughter breaks from Simon's throat. “I had noticed, yes. It's hard not to.”

Dianda's teeth flash again, this time in a proud grin. “I'm strong. I have to be, and I'm proud of that. But my strengths aren't the same as Patrick's. I'm good at punching things, at _doing_ things, at... action. But if I ever do something I shouldn't, that hurts more than it helps, please don't hesitate to tell me. I want to make this work.”

“I do, too.” Simon looks down at his hands. “I just... I don't _know_ what will help. Being here does. Being away from... from everything.”

Dianda laughs, tail fins flicking back and forth. “You wouldn't say this was _away_ from things if you had grown up in the Undersea, but I know what you mean.” Her hand reaches out, not quite grabbing his, open and offering rather than grasping. “No one here will hurt you. Not intentionally. And those who hurt you before are not welcome here. I don't care what their blood is.”

“Of course you don't.” Simon hesitates, then reaches out slowly, gingerly, his fingers twining with Dianda's. “Everyone knows that Merrow are as likely to punch their Firstborn as they are to love her.”

“I think it's a better way to start a relationship.” Dianda smiles, her free hand rising slowly.

Simon leans forward, bringing his hand in contact with her fingers. They begin slowly, gently, sliding their way through her hair.

“You really are quite beautiful.” Dianda murmurs the words. “I know that it's foolish to say such, that we're _all_ beautiful. And I know you're underfed and still exhausted, and you'll be prettier when you're healthy, but you look... happier now. These last few days.”

“I have been happy. Patrick—” Simon has to pause, his tongue tangling on his best friend's name. “I've loved him for a long time. Missed him for a long time. I was already too far gone for him to save on his own when he agreed to marry you, I think, but I...”

“It was one more cut, one more injury in a sea of hurts.” Dianda's eyes are closer, her lips just a hand's span away from his. “I won't try to absolve you of any of your sins—you were a cruel man, and a foolish one—but I understand how you got there. And I am glad to give you the opportunity to find a new and better path.”

Simon draws a breath, and then leans forward, joining their lips once more.

This kiss is gentler than the first one. Not _gentle—_ Simon isn't sure Dianda can manage true _gentleness_ , can ever truly be anything other than the warrior she so clearly is at heart—but gentler. It's a firm wave tugging you forward, an undertow that's trying to draw you to the beach rather than out into the heart of the ocean.

Or maybe it _is_ trying to draw him into the heart of the ocean, because that's where a small piece of Simon's heart has been held and protected for all these years. That's where Simon himself can be given a little bit of grace and peace, a chance to put himself back together again after all he's lost and gained.

When they break apart, they spend a few moments just staring into each other's eyes. Taking the measure of each other, assessing, re-evaluating what it is that this will mean.

Dianda smiles, a slow spread of possessive joy across her face.

For just a moment Simon tenses, his fingers gripping hers. He is used to possessiveness. Amandine the Liar was possessive before she cast him out.

Dianda's smile fades, concern taking its place.

And that allows Simon to lean forward, to kiss her again, more fiercely this time. Because _that_ is something Amandine never would have done. She never would have hesitated. She never would have looked closely enough at _him_ to notice that he was afraid.

She never would have tolerated it if she _did_ see fear there.

The best, most forgiving thing to think about his ex-wife is that she didn't notice he was dying by inches. The more likely thing to think is that she didn't _care_.

Of all the faults people could throw at Dianda's feet, Simon is certain a lack of _feeling_ is not one of them.

The sound of a throat clearing breaks them apart, and Simon turns in surprise to see Patrick standing with his hands behind his back, a fond smile on his face as he watches them both. “Feel free to continue on. I just thought perhaps, since I've been standing here since the _first_ kiss, you'd like to know you had company.”

Simon feels his face flush once more, his tongue stuttering on an answer.

Dianda doesn't hesitate. She just slithers to the end of the bed, holding her arms out imperiously.

Patrick goes to her easily, without hesitation. He slips his arms around her and holds her tight and they kiss as though they are newlyweds, as though they haven't been together for a century, as though they are teenagers who just discovered the joy of pressing body to body.

Given how Simon felt while kissing Dianda, he doesn't blame Patrick one bit.

Then Dianda is hauling Patrick up into the bed with them. Patrick moves easily at her bidding, kicking off his shoes and beginning to strip out of his shirt.

Dianda reaches for Simon, and then hesitates, her fingers not quite touching him. Instead they drum the mattress just next to Dianda. “Here. I'd like you in the middle, Simon.”

Simon glances at Patrick, but Patrick only gives him a wolfish grin.

Lowering his head, still feeling his whole body burning with a combination of shame and nerves and pure physical desire, Simon goes where Dianda indicated.

Patrick settles in the warm spot that Simon left behind, one hand reaching out to lie across Simon's stomach.

Dianda's fingers slowly, gently, quest through Simon's hair again. “Shall we both stay here and save you from further nightmares tonight, husband?”

Simon feels Patrick's lips press against the back of his neck as Dianda says _husband_. “If... if it would please you both...”

“Nothing would please me more, old friend.” Patrick's breath is hot against Simon's ear, his body pressing against Simon's back.

Dianda watches the two of them, her eyes full of deep fondness. Then she leans down, still so slowly, and kisses Simon again.

It will take a long time, Simon knows. It took him decades to break himself, a century to lose so much that he would sacrifice his own family without a moment's hesitation. He can't ask them to give him back the man he used to be in just a week.

But the three of them here, together... the way they both accept him... the way they are both cautious of his scars...

It's a start.

It's more than he deserves, perhaps, though he thinks Patrick would tell him not to think that way.

It's a _chance_ , another opportunity to grab happiness and hold on tight, and Simon isn't going to let it go without a fight.

Even if that fight is mostly against himself.

He kisses Dianda, arches back into Patrick, and wills the nightmares to be better, tonight, at least for a little bit.

A little bit now can grow into a whole new future, one that will hopefully be better for their whole family in all its messy, complicated glory.


End file.
